


things we found in the fire

by tomorrowisforeverallours



Category: Gametrailers' Tabletop Adventures D&D Campaign
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, F/F, M/M, Natural Disasters, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Reunions, cause dnd canon makes no sense, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomorrowisforeverallours/pseuds/tomorrowisforeverallours
Summary: five years have passed since sylvia's defeat at the hands of our four intrepid adventurers. much has changed since they last met, and though their journey remains unforgotten, their bond lays dormant in the shadows of day-to-day life.that is, until each of them receive a visit from a mysterious old friend, and they are thrust back together to face an even greater evil.(basically a post-canon exploration of how the tta crew might have grown after going their separate ways, and the differing ways in which a few years of maturity might give their relationships new potential.)





	1. Chapter 1

 

The bandits have been plaguing their village for the last fortnight, the innkeeper had said with a weary sigh as she swiped the inside of a glass with a stained rag. They venture out under the cover of night and harass their livestock, screech and shout and destroy anything not hidden or unbreakable. It was more pesky than anything, until old lady Gritham's goat had disappeared one night.

"Then," she rasped, eyes squinted as she rubbed at a particularly irritating spot of grime, "we knew we had to take action."

They didn't have much, but they'd pay him to take care of it. He laughed and said he needed no pay. She smiled and told him the room and dinner were on the house, then.

He leaves as tendrils of night begin to spread across the sky, the sun falling under the horizon. The innkeeper had directed him to a cave to the north, and the quest feels all too familiar as he treks off the dusty dirt path and into the forest. Darkness has fallen by the time he spots the gaping maw of the cave, but within he can see flickers of firelight.

He creeps forward through the brush, swiftly pulling his crossbow off his shoulders and nocking an arrow. There are six bandits circled around the growing bonfire, one of them standing on a rock and seemingly making a proclamation while the others nod in agreement.

He breathes in, channels his energy and fires.

The arrow finds its mark in the bandit's skull. His companions screech in panic and reach for their weapons, springing at him with wild battlecries as soon as he steps into the firelight. He waits for the perfect moment.

" _Thunder Wave!_ "

A wave of force sweeps out from around him, knocking the bandits off their feet and prone. They stare up at him in horror and are frozen by his smile.

"Would you be the ones ravaging the village, by chance?"

He waits for an answer, tapping his foot. One of the bandits stammers, "W-w-well, y-yeah, but it was just some fun, we didn't mean any harm –"

"Well, I'm sorry to say you did cause some harm. And you'll face some of your own if you do not pack up and leave this area," he interrupts smoothly. It is a rather impressive intimidation attempt, and all but one of the bandits nods fiercely and scrambles to their feet, backing away.

One stands their ground. "And who the hell are you to tell us to do anything?"

He shrugs. "Oh, you may have heard of me. The great god-killer, Pervince Tosscobble?"

The bandit chokes on an inhale, eyes growing wide, as the rest of the bandits freeze and look at him before doubling their attempts to pack up their camp. Pervince quirks a smile. "So I trust we won't be hearing from you again?"

"N-n-no, sir."

"Good."

Pervince waves a hand and from out of thin air appears a portal, blue and purple swirling and then crystallizing into a view of the village he had left. He steps through and blinks out of existence, wondering if it is perhaps not too late to get his free dinner.

* * *

 

The heist isn’t a simple job. Oh, she doesn’t do simple jobs. She has _long_ surpassed simple jobs.

But it _is_ nice to get out into the field again; the business side of leading the land's most prestigious thieves' guild is nice (copper, silver, gold gold _gold_ ), but little can compare to the thrill of picking locks, slipping through shadows, snatching up treasure and fleeing before the owners or guards can catch her. It’s a high like no other.

Their target is a mansion at the heart of the city. Its occupants, too, hold high positions in the government, and they have to take extra precautions, which is why they've recruited her for the operation in the first place.

Guards - six, stationed around the perimeter. Wards - magical, triggered by any non-recognizable presence passing across the property line or over the fence. Target - safe in the cellar, behind lock and key. Treasure - documents suspected to incriminate the family in a multitude of crimes, easily used for blackmail.

(Not nearly as fun as gold or gems, in her mind. But you gotta do what you gotta do.)

Her lack of night vision has always been a pain, but the moon is bright tonight. The wind is harsh and nearly knocks her off the roof she's perched on as they wait for an opening; her companion grabs the back of her hood and steadies her. He snickers. "You're going to fall, little one."

"Shut up. And don't call me that, there's only one person allowed to call me that and it's not you," she snaps without looking, gaze locked on the guard rotation far below.

"Tch, alright, Guildmaster."

"Much better." She smirks, watching the bumbling oafs below patrol the yard, never once shooting a glance upwards. "Get ready, it should be happening soon."

The wizard grunts and flips open his pocketbook, searching for a particular spell. He hands her a sliver of licorice root to chew on, starts muttering and gesturing under his breath, and she can feel her body grow lighter, as though she could take flight into the air then and there.

She grins. "Thanks, now shoo. They're about to – ah, there it goes." There's a flicker of firelight at the opposite corner of the yard, barely in her line of sight, and then shouting as the guards stream towards the distraction.

Her wizard nods. "Andry - ahem. Highhill. Good luck."

Andry glances at him, quirks an eyebrow. "I killed a god. You think I need luck?"

“I – I suppose not.”

“Damn straight.”

She shuffles a few steps back, to the peak of the roof, hesitating long enough to make sure her wizard does indeed climb to the ground, before beginning to run. She's momentarily afraid she'll trip and merely fall, but she has more confidence in her abilities than that. Empty air speeds up to meet her and as she reaches the very edge of the roof, she springs off with a quiet sound and hurtles through the air, landing on the opposite roof with a thump.

Immediately she scrambles to the edge and drops down to the balcony, its location burned into her mind. With a flick of her wrist and a flash of silver thieves' tools, the door clicks open and she slips inside. _Score. Let's see what we can find._

* * *

 

Blood splatters the stone floor in little droplets, rhythmically splashing and seeping into the cracks of the ground. His fists are crimson and he shakes it off carelessly, flicking blood into the face of his opponent. The burly human stumbles, collapses to one knee, glares up at him.

"Bastard," the man spits at his feet.

He laughs. "You think you can intimidate me with such a weak gesture? Why, my companions and I spit on the lackeys of a goddess once. And then we _killed_ her."

The human pales, accepting his friends' help as others crowd around him and pull him away, furiously berating him for having lost and leaving him alone in the center of the makeshift ring.

"Any other challengers? Or will you give me what I came here for?" He bellows, turning with arms outstretched as if to welcome other fighters. He could have easily extracted the necessary information about his father from their leader without going through these measures, but it was a fun fight for a little while. And there is no other feeling quite like scarring someone's face with the claws of a bear.

Another half-orc steps forward, expression set into a resigned scowl. "Stand down," he growls to his men in their shared language, waving him along curtly. "Come. You have proven yourself. We will talk."

"I am _Hogger_ and I should not have had to prove myself to you!" His shout bounces off the stone, joined by the growl of his companion.

His axe is propped against the wall and he reaches for it, strapping it to his back where it belongs. The orc's face is ashen as he says, "But fine. Let us talk. Perhaps if you tell me what I want to know this time, I won't have to kill you."

* * *

 

An owl hoots somewhere in the distant forest, echoing through the night in an eerie manner to some. She is unfazed; she considers calling back, but the owl must be busy hunting and she wouldn't want to disturb it. She's likely rusty as well; casting Speak with Animals takes much less effort than trying to translate the intricacies of birdcall into her own languages.

The other woodland creatures skitter around in the darkness. Though she has no marked camp they seem to respect some sort of boundary, the glow of beady golden eyes on its edges reflected in the dying fire.

She sighs and waves a hand, her druidcraft extinguishing the light and plunging them into darkness. The wind rustles the trees and her companion makes a creaking noise, something like a house settling in the middle of the night.

"Yes?" She hums, settling into a more comfortable position, the bark of the tree scraping her back.

The tree does not breathe, not as she does. It does not need to. But it moves, undeniably. Its branches are thin and sway in the breeze.

It does not speak, not as she does. But she understands it plain as day, in the ancient tongue of her circle. _"People, tomorrow? Hide?"_

With a shake of her head and a fond smile she reassures her friend. "No, Dair, not tomorrow. I don't believe we'll come across another village for at least a few more days."

 _"...Good. Don't like to hide. Like to move,"_ the awakened tree rumbles.

"I know. You'll get to stretch your roots yet," she chuckles, patting the base of the tree. "Now, I should trance, but I'm not feeling very tired.”

_"Lailia. Sleep."_

Lailia rolls her eyes and exhales through her nose in amusement, shifting to make sure nothing will creep up on her. Not that anything can get past her keen powers of perception. "Taking orders from a sentient tree. I killed a god and this is what my life has come to."

_"...Yes."_

"Aha. Well, I suppose it’s no fault but my own, hmm? Good night, Dair." She closes her eyes, breathing steadying out as the calmness of meditation washes over her, worries left behind.

The tree's roots are slow and methodical, curling around her to shield her from the elements or any sort of attacker.

_"Good night, Lailia."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i came up with the idea for this fic last fall and finally started to crank out some substantial parts of it for camp nanowrimo. figured i'd start posting because making myself responsible to an audience always makes me write more. 
> 
> a few trivial notes specific to this prologue:  
> \- Pervince is badass but still the happy-go-lucky bard we all love. thunder wave is still one of his favorite spells  
> \- Hogger called Andry "little one" like, twice but i latched onto it  
> \- we don't talk about the robot thing  
> \- the spell her wizard friend casts is Haste  
> \- for Hogger's bit i was basically just imagining an illegal boxing ring  
> \- Lailia's got her cool tree friend using the spell Awaken, it's an oak, Dair means oak in old Irish + perhaps modern Irish as well idk for sure  
> \- sort of irrelevant but i just like thinking about it, lailia's got an asymmetrical bob and andry's got long hair with blunt bangs, facecanons to be updated someday


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shit goes down.

The darkness is suffocating. And Andry _knows_ darkness, was born into it and lives in it and will surely succumb to its embrace at the end of her life, but this is no familiar blanket of night. This is pure black.

She has no context as to how she got here, no recollection of what she was doing before. But Andry’s never been one to hang around and wait for things to happen, so she flips her hood up and forges ahead until in the distance she sees a spark of white light.

She blinks and suddenly everything is white.

It’s a drastic change, and a sharp contrast to the midnight black skin of the woman in front of her.

In a flash Andry has her daggers out and ready, because _what the fuck, is that Sylvia, is she back from the dead_? But no, her terror is eased in the same instant, as an odd calm washes over her. This is not Sylvia. She knows this woman.

The woman smiles, beckons to her. Andry wonders what sort of strange magic has dampened her instincts, because it makes perfectly logical sense to stow her weapons and walk up to stand in front of her.

Sylvia’s sister appears no different than the day that Andry and her friends first met her, more than five years ago now. Clad in robes of deep purple, braids spilling down her back, she smiles down upon Andry in a way that makes her feel instantly at home in the way only three other people ever could. “You’ve come far, little one,” she says.

“Where are we? What’s going on?”

“You’re dreaming, of course,” says Sylvia’s sister with a hint of a laugh. “I wouldn’t dare set foot on your plane. Not in a bad way, mind you, but I fear my presence there would only stir things more.”

“Oh.” So Andry is dreaming. “Sick. Can you make me like, lucid dream all the time?”

The goddess laughs. “We shall see,” she says, then sobers. “Much has happened since I spoke with you and your companions last. You’ve drifted apart.”

“We haven’t drifted apart,” Andry counters, pushing her hood off and reaching back to pull her hair out of the back of her cloak. “We just… haven’t seen each other in a while, that’s all.”

“And you would say that four years is a while?”

“Uh…. yeah.”

They had indeed met up a year after their adventure ended, when they had agreed to. Andry hadn’t stayed in the Jire long – she’d been on the run from a couple of Miko’s old allies, didn’t have time to hang around and reminisce – but nothing had seemed to change much. She remembers that Hogger was getting ready to set off, as well, but she’d had no news of him or Lailia or Pervince since. And if Andry is honest with herself, she hasn’t exactly been searching for word of her old friends, either. Too many other things to do.

She shrugs a little by way of conceding. “Yeah, okay, so it’s been a long time. I’m sure they’re all fine. Hogger’s probably still killing things, Pervince is probably back in the Jire lazing around and eating cookies, and I’m sure Lailia’s still doing her forest child thing. We’ve all gotten along fine without each other. What’s this about?”

Andry grows serious. Certainly Sylvia’s sister wouldn’t visit her simply to catch up; there must be something amiss.

Indeed, the goddess nods solemnly, reading her thoughts. (She is inside Andry’s mind, after all.) “You are correct, little one. This is not a social visit. There have been bickers, among my kind, with repercussions that will soon make their way to your world. Very soon, in fact.”

“Um, okay. So the gods are fighting again? Can’t you guys just… figure it out on your own?” Andry really doesn’t understand why the gods _always_ have to rope mortals into their affairs. Just because they can, she supposes.

Sylvia’s sister frowns. “We reach to mortals because without your world, our powers would mean nothing. Your continued existence gives us purpose. There is no point in squabbling unless there is something to squabble over, and no reason to strive towards good unless there is something to protect. It is… unfortunate that your earthly plane often becomes our battlefield – “

“Chessboard, more like.”

“… but nevertheless, it is worth fighting for. And you are not my pawns,” she affixes Andry with a look that bears the weight of a thousand lifetimes lived, a thousand deaths foretold, an eternity of conflict, “but my _champions._ ”

A warm, empowering feeling feeling wraps itself around Andry like a sentient blanket, and suddenly she's filled with energy. She is a _champion_ , and she can do _anything_. “That’s… kinda got a nice ring to it.”

“Exactly,” says the goddess, smiling. “I have not abandoned you. Who do you suppose was responsible for the death of your previous Guildmaster?”

Andry blinks. “You did that? I mean, he was a dick, so thanks, and it got me this sweet job, so double thanks, but –”

“Why? To prepare you.”

“To pre – wait, you knew this would happen?”

“I knew things were stirring between my fellow gods, yes. But I had hoped we would have more time,” she says ruefully. “Alas, not to be.”

“Uh huh,” Andry nods slowly, trying to comprehend everything. She's never been much of a thinker. “So what the hell do you expect us to do?”

The goddess' eyes sparkle. “You defeated one god, yes? Another few shouldn't be too hard.” She almost laughs at Andry's incredulous expression. “No, no, I jest. I cannot choose the path you will take – if I could, your previous adventures would have been much more straightforward. But you will play a large role in the days to come, dear Andry, and so you must prepare. Seek out your friends. It is only together that you will be able to overcome the coming destruction.”

The edges of Andry's vision are beginning to blur into darkness, and she can feel herself slipping out of this dream world and back into the real one, but so many questions are yet unanswered. She's frantic and she's running, running towards Sylvia’s sister who seems to be growing farther away, her light dimming.

“Wait, how do I find them? What's coming, what's going on? What do we do?”

“I will visit them as well,” the goddess’ voice echoes calmly. “And I will return when the four of you are together again.”

“Wait - “

“Be strong, little one. Trust your instincts, for they are your greatest asset.”

“But I - “

Everything is pure black.

* * *

It is rare that anything stir Hogger from the depths of sleep, safe for his own will or the smell of good food. But on this day, he awakens with a jolt, raising his axe reflexively. His muscles ache from the challenges of the night before, but his worries are not physical.

Sylvia’s sister had come to him. It was one of the most unsettling experiences of his life – Hogger _hates_ mind tricks like that. But she is on their side, so the words she spoke are to be trusted, which means their world is under attack once again.

And Hogger doesn't have any particular attachment to it, but his friends do, and for them he will fight. (He would probably fight anyway, though. Nothing like some good old bloodshed.)

Bowser Jr. lets out a sleepy growl at the end of the bed and rests his head on Hogger's leg. Hogger scratches through the bear's fur and attempts to think deeply.

It's not something that he does very often, and it doesn't last very long. _Where do I go? How do I find Pervince and Lailia and Andry? What if they're in danger?_

The thought makes him leap to his feet, Bowser Jr. whining in protest. He doesn't have to redress – only fools take their armor off while they sleep – so he grabs his pack and leaves the room, Bowser Jr. snorting in confusion and padding along behind him.

Halfway down the stairs, the inn shakes.

Not the tremor of a fight, or of a particularly heavy guest – no, the building shakes so violently that Hogger nearly falls down the rest of the stairs.

Outside, someone screams.

Hogger’s boots pound heavy on the wood floor as he slams the door open and then stops in his tracks. “What – what the hell?”

Chaos. Chaos in the streets and in the skies, as some unearthly blue lightning crashes down up on them from charcoal clouds. It strikes the inn behind Hogger, which joins much of the rest of the city in a fiery blaze, but the flames are blue and will not be put out. The very ground shakes and cracks beneath him and Hogger nearly loses his balance.

His first and only coherent thought is, _Ugh. Magic._

Hogger sprints through the village, Bowser Jr. racing at his side. The fire is inescapable and sparks chase him, scorching into his skin with sharp pain and the sizzle of burnt flesh, but he pays it no mind. He has seen many battlefields, and he knows this is a war he cannot win alone. So he keeps running.

* * *

When it happens, Pervince is just setting off from the village. He’d said his goodbyes to the innkeeper (who had kindly packed him a lunch, even) and is just stepping out into the fresh air.

His next destination is the nearby city – there are odd jobs to be done there, no doubt. People who could use some help. Pervince likes cities. There’s always someone to talk to, and _always_ somewhere to perform.

And performing is what Pervince does, after all.

* * *

Lailia hears the buzzing in her ears before anything else. It’s odd, like a swarm of gnats has surrounded her, and she swallows a few times in an attempt to maybe dispel it. No such luck.

It can’t just be her. “Do you hear that?” She asks Dair, the tree’s towering figure still able to keep up with her.

_“What?”_

“That buzzing.”

 _“No._ ”

“Hmm.” Lailia’s chest begins to ache.

* * *

Pervince rubs his temples and pauses to lean against a tree off the path. His headaches don’t normally come on this quickly, and he can’t help but wonder if it has something to do with the visit in his dream.

Dark times ahead.

He’s a sharp pain in his temple, bad enough to make him slump against the tree. _What's going on?_ He thinks, but he can barely think, consumed by the feeling of something eating at him from the inside out, something he recognizes faintly as his own magic.

* * *

_“Lailia, hurt?”_ Dair asks, one limb stretching surprisingly fast to catch her around the waist before she can topple over. Lailia leans heavily against the oak, wondering hazily if this is just a bad case of heartburn even as she knows without a doubt it is otherwise.

She's felt her magic rebel against her before but never like this, never as if all of her is burning slowly, fire in her veins as the magic in her lifeblood turns against itself.

The fires of her birth have finally caught up with her, Lailia thinks wryly in the moment before she passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this would've been up on saturday but i forgot that my parents are frugal and apolitical and had their internet+cable turned off so they don't have to see 45 on the news. rip. 
> 
> notes for this chapter:  
> \- sylvia's sister doesn't have a name yet but she can step on me  
> \- the only reason that meeting went that well is because dream magic. dream magic makes everything better.  
> \- thinking is a dangerous pastime for hogger  
> \- i apologize for the end bit, it just made the most sense to tell their stories in parallels


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pervince makes soup.
> 
> andry is in trouble.

When Pervince awakens, it is to warm blankets and the scent of wood smoke and patchouli in the air. He sits up slowly, the ache in his back telling of how long he’s spent in bed, even if he doesn’t remember how he got here. For a moment he simply looks around, unalerted to any danger, taking in the eclectic decor and bundles of drying herbs. _Hmm. This is rather cozy_.

“Ah, finally,” a voice calls in amusement as a silk curtain is swept to the side and a halfling woman sweeps in, a tray with tea in her hands.

“I was beginning to think you’d never wake up,” she comments, setting the tea directly on his lap as if daring him to move. “Shame you did, I was looking forward to having more meat for the winter.”

It’s said with such a dry tone that Pervince honestly almost believes her and is half ready to shoot off a thunder wave and bolt on out of there. His reason obliges him to first stutter, “E-excuse me?” The only thing that reassures him that it’s simply a jest is the sparkle in the woman’s eyes.

“Oh, calm down. There’s not much meat on your bones anyways, I’d be better off feeding you to the wolves,” she quips, sitting beside him. “How are you feeling?”

How _is_ Pervince feeling? It’s the first time he’s taken stock of himself and it leaves him with some uncomfortable revelations: he aches everywhere, he doesn’t recognize the clothes he’s in, and his weapons are nowhere to be found.

“Er, where are my things?” He asks, and the woman chuckles.

“That’s always the first question. They’re at the end of the bed. And don’t worry, everything’s there; nothing I would want, anyway. I don’t like music,” she wrinkles her nose

Somehow that’s even more shocking than the situation Pervince has found himself in. His eyes go wide. “ _What?_ H-how could anyone not enjoy the delights of musical artistry? It’s the greatest food for the soul, it makes life worth living, it –”

“If a jaunty little tune is the only thing keeping you from offing yourself, you’ve got bigger issues to deal with,” the woman interrupts with exasperated amusement. “I’m not interested in being interrogated, kid. I’m old enough to deserve my privacy. Now shut up and drink your damn tea.”

Pervince shrinks, wrapping his hands around the mug and sipping to keep himself from rambling again. Somehow he’s reminded of Andry, her sharp tongue and uncouth sense of humor. He wonders where she is.

He only dares to speak up again after he’s finished half the tea. “Um, I must thank you for assisting me. I have no recollection of the past few days but I must have collapsed somewhere along the road?” A nod. “Well, you have my gratitude, lady…”

“It’s Mint. Don’t refer to me as a lady.”

“Oh. Well, dear… Mint, I appreciate it nonetheless. May I ask what has occurred since you found me?”

Mint’s expression turns grim, as though she had been expecting this question from the start and its answer is more serious than Pervince had anticipated. “A hell of a lot, kid. My advice: just stick to the forests from here on out. You learn how to sustain yourself here and you’re set no matter what goes down outside.”

“…what do you mean?”

“I mean that the day I found you on the side of the road was the day everything went to shit,” Mint says plainly. “Earthquakes, blue fire, beasts going haywire. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if some weird magical interference was what struck you down in the first place. I’ve got no real answers for you but it doesn’t bode well.”

Pervince’s brows furrow and he turns his hands over as if it’s the first time he’s seeing them. He does remember the burning sensation of magic, but everything seems to be back to normal now; it still hums through him comfortingly. A quick test has multicolored lights fluttering around his fingers.

“Well, that’s normal enough,” he mutters. _I don’t want to waste the energy to try a stronger spell so soon after waking. I’ll just have to be careful._

“The magic, maybe. What’s with the metal legs?”

“Oh,” Pervince pauses, tapping at the metal absently. By now he doesn’t even take notice of them. “They’re from an old adventure.”

“Adventure, I’m sure.”

“How long have I been here?” He asks.

“Oh, a few days.”

Pervince is halfway out of bed in the next few seconds. _Days? I’ve wasted so much time, oh no, I hope everyone has weathered this disaster better than I have._ “Well, I appreciate your kindness but I ought to get out of your hair,” he stammers, nudging the tray to the end of the bed, which looks made for humans.

Mint doesn’t move to stop him, but stares him down with a quirked eyebrow. “Now, are you sure you’re ready to be on the road again?”

“Oh, yes, I’m very resilient, haha…” Pervince’s laugh fades as his vision tunnels and he sways, sitting heavily back onto the bed. His head pounds and he blinks away black spots.

“I see,” Mint says with a smirk. “You seem very resilient, indeed.”

“Um, do you mind if I –”

“You’re staying.”

Pervince stays only for the night, and it seems enough to revitalize him for his journey. Mint does not coddle him; once he is fit to stand she puts him to work cooking and cleaning, her excuse being that “It’s not often I have a guest as spry as you that can actually get around the furniture.” And when she returns from hunting he’s bowled over by the largest wolf he’s seen since Lailia on the planet of Azul, its tail wagging frantically as it jumps all over him.

“Don’t mind her, she won’t bite,” Mint laughs as Pervince yelps and tries to keep her from licking eagerly at his stirring spoon. “Down, Willow.”

“She’s very friendly!”

“Don’t let it fool you – and keep her away from that damn soup!”

When a good night’s sleep, devoid of any ominous dreams, gives Pervince enough energy to continue on his quest, he almost regrets having to go. He’s no reason to loiter about, especially if his friends are in danger, but still he lingers. He’s relatively close to the Jire, and it crosses his mind to go there first, to check on his people before finding his friends. And maybe Lailia’s returned to her people.

Mint has no such attachment. “Oh, go on, don’t hang about. You’ve got people to find, haven’t you?”

“I… yes, yes I do.” Pervince pats Willow on the snout. “Thank you for assisting me, I don’t know what would have happened to me otherwise.”

“Me neither, kid.”

“W-well, alright. Please, try and stay safe. Whatever is happening won’t stay out of the forest forever.”

“Don’t worry about us. Oh, and Pervince?” Mint calls out to him with a rueful smile, “Keep my niece out of trouble, will you?”

* * *

Andry is in trouble.

Her guild is crumbling and no number of hastily-called meetings will stop her members from slipping away into the night. The city crumbles, too, from the moment the first earthquake topples its marble city hall.

It’s not the first time she’s caught without a backup plan, but everything happens so fast. One moment it’s the natural disaster, then her mages are collapsing in agony and losing control of themselves. She’d reports of some fleeing as soon as they could, scars twisting across their skin as reminders of the damage.

A disease, the people are calling it: some sort of plague, though this is no ordinary blight. Andry knows it has something to do with the guidance she was given by Sylvia’s sister, but she can’t just go off on a wild goose chase for her old friends – people she may not even be able to find – and leave her guild unprotected. And under whose command? Andry’s not being arrogant (well, perhaps she is a _little bit_ ); there’s no one else better suited to lead them than she is.

Then again, perhaps she’s better suited to a different course of action, after all.

Even if Andry isn’t necessarily dedicated to seeking out her old companions, Sylvia’s sister works in mysterious, sometimes obvious ways. This one being the crowd of people outside her office door.

“Open up, Highhill!”

Andry rolls her eyes and looks to her wizard companion Rothan, who waves a hand; this isn’t an uncommon occurrence. The few members in front look surprised as the door slams open, nearly bouncing back in their faces before they begin to flood into the room.

There’s more people than Andry usually gets, but the more interesting part is the weapons they have drawn, and that’s what puts her on guard. Andry pulls a dagger out of its holster and flips it in her palm to say something like, _you’re not the only ones with weapons,_ but it doesn’t seem to have the intimidating effect she hopes it would.

Her guests crowd into the office and Andry scowls at them. “To what do I owe the displeasure of this visit?”

“Oh, give it up, Highhill,” snaps the woman at the front, a darkskinned half-elf with purple Spellscars twisting down her arms. Stella’s a great thief and she’s been gunning for her position since the day Andry became Guildmaster, but her ambition doesn’t seem to be the only thing driving this confrontation. “Your time is up.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“We see you. You’ve been lining your pockets while the rest of us suffer under this damn plague, aren’t you? Making us keep going out on jobs as the city falls apart.”

The accusation isn’t entirely unfounded, but Andry takes offense nonetheless. _What else am I supposed to do, let everything fall apart?_  “I’m just trying to keep our day-to-day operations running smoothly. And this sort of chaos is good for thieves, you know that.”

“For thieves that don’t use magic, maybe,” Stella says darkly.

“Hey, I can’t help that I’m a rogue and you’re not,” snaps Andry. “and it’s not like I’m the only one not affected. Rothan’s a wizard and he’s fine. You’re just trying to use this as an excuse to kick me out, aren’t you?”

It’s not a question.

Andry stands up on her chair, feeling the blade of her dagger sharp against her finger and wondering if she can defeat them all and still keep her job. Things are very quickly going to hell in a handbasket – killing them would be bad for her reputation and the guild, and Andry’s not even sure if she can win this battle. The only other option currently revealing itself is… less than favorable, to say the least, but at least she won’t be dead.

Stella stares her down. “I wouldn’t call it an excuse,” she says, “but a justification. Times are changing and we need a different Guildmaster who understands the plight of _all_ our members.”

“You mean you.”

“Perhaps. It doesn’t matter who it is, really, as long as it’s not you,” she says blithely, and gestures with her scimitar. “Come on. Your resignation is effective immediately.”

Andry thinks on her feet. “If it’s a resignation that means I go voluntarily,” she says quickly. “Don’t wave your sword at me, I get it. Give me a minute to collect my things and I’ll _get out of your hair.”_

“Highhill, you’re not really –” Rothan begins to announce his disbelief and Andry shuts him up with a quick look.

The two women stare each other down and Andry wonders if maybe they could have been friends, in a world where Andry hadn’t arrived in this city with a god-killing reputation, a world where she had gotten her thieving start in a proper guild and not with him.

Stella rolls her eyes. “Fine, Highhill. I’ll give you two minutes.”

“ _Alone,_ please. Don’t need you seeing my secret stashes.”

“Fine.” The half-elf herds her group of followers back outside the door, giving her a sharp look of _don’t do anything funny_ before shutting it.

“What the hell, Andry?” Rothan exclaims as soon as they’re alone, stalking around her desk. “You’re not going to actually give up the Guildmaster position to her? I mean, she’s talented, but you can’t just let her bully you out of here.”

“She’s not,” Andry says, sweeping as much coin into her purse as she can fit. It’s a damn shame she can’t take all of it with her. “I’m letting her have it – for now. I have some people to find.”

Nobody needs to know that Andry wasn’t actually planning on seeking out her friends until it became a convenient excuse to escape danger. (On some other plane, a goddess laughs.)

Rothan expresses verbally the doubts that Andry’s hiding. “Your friends? How do you know you’ll be able to find them? Do you even have any way to contact them? And what will you do after that? You’re not going to try and get to the bottom of whatever’s going on, are you?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“That’s what you always say,” he mutters bitterly. Andry cracks a smile that he can’t see; Rothan’s been loyal to her for some godawful reason ever since she became Guildmaster, and though she doesn’t quite get why, she does appreciate him for it.

“Because it’s true.” She pulls out a dagger and turns around to the back wall. With a brief scan across the uneven bricks and a flick of her wrist, one of the bricks is pressed in and a secret passage opens, stale air rushing into the office with the smell of dead leaves and rainwater.

“You’re leaving _now?_ ”

“Hell yeah, you think I’m gonna stick around and do Stella’s walk of shame? I’m not about that life.”

“I’m going with you.”

Andry shoots him an unimpressed look. _Men._ “What good would that do? Don’t get chivalrous on me now. I need you here to make sure there’s something left of this place for me to come back to.” As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she knows Stella well enough to know she really does have what she thinks are the guild’s best interests at heart, but that doesn’t mean she’s fit to lead.

Rothan hesitates, looking every bit the teenage human that he is. “But how do I do that? They’re not going to trust me, and what do I say when she comes in and finds you gone?”

“You don’t say anything,” Andry smiles apologetically. She beckons him over and hugs him; he’s so surprised by the unexpected affection that he never sees the chop to the neck coming. (But she can hear the hypothetical “Fuck you, Highhill” in the air as he collapses.)

“Sorry, bud,” she mutters as she hops down off the table, stealing a coin out of his pockets for good measure. She slips into the passage seconds before a muffled commotion outside signals that her scheme is discovered.

Andry hurries on her way before someone inevitably finds this little tunnel. Finding Lailia or Pervince or Hogger is going to be a hell of a job, but first things first, she’s gotta remember where she hid that _damn_ suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another saturday, another chapter. i'm glad i wrote out a bunch of this before school started kicking me in the ass; this is the most consistent I've been with any fic ever.
> 
> notes:  
> \- mint is a badass ranger enby. i promise i didn't make her up, kyle once mentioned that andry had an aunt and i ran with it. she rides on the wolf.  
> \- rothan was originally middle aged and then i figured why the hell would a middle aged wizard guy be so attached to tiny halfling andry? so he got de-aged. facecanon for him is teenage brandon jones. who looks pretty much like modern brandon jones, just with less gray. honestly, if you haven't seen the star wars musical clips with him, hmu.   
> \- stella's badass and i've never seen xmen but i just imagine her as storm from xmen   
> \- we don't talk about the robot thing


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hogger meets some drow.
> 
> lailia makes a friend.

It’s been years since Hogger last had this much trouble sleeping.

Before, it was memories of his mother’s death, scenes that wouldn’t leave his mind no matter how much time had passed. Even now they haunt him, but fainter and dulled with the knowledge that his mother has watched over his training, has seen him kill countless enemies including a goddess and come out only slightly worse for wear.

He still seeks revenge, of course, but for his own reasons. Although he’s sure his mother wouldn’t mind seeing her bastard husband and his general die a painful death.

But now the intrusive thoughts are more varied, more insidious. He’ll close his eyes and see Andry crushed under the heel of a sentinel, or Pervince unconscious with legs twisted beneath him, or Lailia bleeding out on the floor of Sylvia’s mental plane, or any sorts of hypothetical situations like the ones he’s encountered in the past days. Earthquakes or fires swallowing them up, rabid beasts devouring them; the list goes on and on.

Hogger knows that all of his friends are still alive. They wouldn’t die so easily, and Sylvia’s sister would undoubtedly have something to say about that. Yet he strangely finds himself worrying anyway.

“Damn goddess,” he curses under his breath. _Had to speak in riddles, couldn’t just tell me where they are. How the hell am I supposed to find anyone?_ They’re going south, towards where Hogger is pretty sure the Jire and Lailia’s forest are, but he can’t even be sure of his own location since all they’ve seen for days is mountains.

It’s a damn shame all this happened just as he caught wind of his father’s trail. As it is, Hogger hadn’t even considered putting off this quest to track him down first, even though revenge seems so close – one of the lessons his friends had taught him was that vengeance cannot come before friendship. _What a strange thought. Perhaps Pervince will be proud of my growth._

Bowser Jr. snuffles in his sleep and paws at Hogger’s armor roughly. A cub no longer, he almost towers to his father’s height and has certainly been a welcome companion and worthy ally the past few years. No bear will ever live up to Bowser’s reputation, but his son will certainly make a name for himself.

The earth grumbles like an empty stomach, deep and dark and close enough to have Hogger reaching for his axe. Bowser Jr. growls and stirs, shifting his head off Hogger’s lap and onto his paws.

When it grows louder he stands, catching his balance, and it’s only this motion that lets him catch a whisper of words underneath the noise, a hissing language he recognizes.

“Who’s there?” He barks, used to the dark but still unable to see any creature. The hissing falls quiet and Hogger is even more suspicious. “Come out now if you want to live!”

It’s cliché but it does the trick. Out of the shadows of the rocky crags slips a trembling group of people; Hogger’s shocked to see drow outside of the Underdark. _What are they doing here? Have they come for revenge for Sylvia?_ He hefts his axe threateningly and the elves back away.

“What do you want,” he growls, “and who are you? Are you followers of Sylvia?”

One of them says something in Undercommon to the others frantically, but nobody answers him.

“What was that now?”

“N-no,” announces one of the drow, a middle-aged man _(or so it seems, but who knows with elves)_. He waves a hand and lights appear around them; Hogger withholds his attack solely because he recognizes this spell as one of Pervince’s. The drow’s Common is halting but confident. “We don’t know Sylvia. We come from the Underdark.”

“I knew that. But where? And why?”

“Back there,” the man gestures behind him. “New entrance.”

Hogger’s never heard of new entrances to the Underdark simply opening up, but then again, the land has been constantly shifting. He stares down the four elves who clearly hadn’t expected to encounter a surface dweller and are hiding behind a towering stone.

“A new entrance? When did it open up?”

“Yesterday.”

_As I thought._ Hogger rouses Bowser Jr. and plans to leave, but first wonders what Lailia would do and figures he ought to get some information out of them. “Have there been earthquakes down there? Or blue fires?”

The drow seems confused. “All fire is blue… yes?”

“No, fire is – never mind.” Hogger turns to leave. “Whatever. If you follow me I’ll kill you.”

“W-wait!” Hogger waits. “Earth… quakes. Tunnels flood, drow panic. Sometimes earth floats above surface, creatures still in tunnels.” The drow man hesitates. “Lolth thrives on chaos, orders us to explore and kill surface dwellers.”

“Were you planning to attempt to kill the two of us? I assure you, your head would roll before you got close enough to even draw your weapon.”

“N-no…”

“Good. Go back down to your land and stay out of my way,” Hogger snaps, summoning Bowser Jr. to his side and setting back onto the road, the faint glow of the dancing lights in the distance lighting his path. Resting anywhere near the Underdark is not an option, even if Hogger wouldn’t mind a good battle with some eldritch monster every once in a while. Sleep will just have to wait a while longer.

* * *

Lailia is first aware of the rain, or at least the errant sprinkles that seep through her shelter. It's a steady drip-drip-drip that is likely to drive her mad if she doesn't at least find the source of it, so with a quiet groan she blinks her eyes open and pushes at the gnarled roots forming a roof over her head.

They curl away with a creak as soon as Lailia's fingertips brush them and she hears Dair's slow Drueidan. “ _Lailia, awake?_ ”

“Yeah, I'm awake,” she mutters, wondering why in the Nine Hells she feels so sore. Every muscle takes twice as much effort to move and she settles into a seated position in the cradle of Dair's roots, tilting her head back to see glimpses of gray sky beyond the forest canopy. “What happened?”

Perhaps she does not need to ask; she remembers collapsing as her magic burned through her, remembers a scream that may have been hers, now that she thinks about it. But this is deeper in the forest, willow and ash branches draping towards thick undergrowth, an area she does not recognize. Dair must have brought her here.

“So she lives,” a different voice says in Common this time. Lailia flinches and glances up to see a young man slashing his way through the brush, effortlessly dragging something behind him which turns out to be the corpse of a giant eagle. He appears human, save for the claw-like nails and pointed canines he flashes at her in a smirk.

“Who the hell are you?”

“That’s not a very nice way to greet the guy who helped you out,” his smile falls away instantly. One thin oak branch hovers between them, as if sensing the hostility. “And the fuck's with the tree?”

“He's my friend,” Lailia says protectively.

“... some weird fuckin' friends you've got, lady.”

“And you're not one of them,” she retorts, although _well, you're not wrong_. “What made you think I wanted your help? Or did you decide to just sweep in and save the 'damsel-in-distress’ and expect to get something out of it? Because you're not going to – “

“Whoa, slow down, lady,” the guy holds his hands up, scowling. “First of all, I don't want anything out of you except maybe a little _gratitude,_ alright? And I didn't do it for your sake, my intentions were purely selfish. I saw this weird moving tree getting attacked by a giant eagle, trying to protect something in its roots, and I figured I could poke around and see if it was worth something. 'Course, the eagle decided to attack me too, if you hadn't noticed,” he gestures to his torn shoulder, “and on top of that it wasn't even some treasure, just a half-dead elf lady. Waste of my time.”

“Well, I'm sorry I'm not worth more to you,” Lailia mutters under her breath, mollified for the time being. Dair's wounds are shallow and will grow over with time, but that scratch looks nasty and prone to infection, and it’s true that things could have ended badly if he hadn’t helped her. Trees aren’t very knowledgeable about the intricacies of the elven body. “What’s your name? I’ll make it up to you. Get over here.”

“I don’t want whatever it is you’re planning, lady,” the man grumbles but shifts to sit next to her nonetheless, black eyes wary. “Call me Sven.”

Lailia brushes his shoulder with her fingertips and casts Cure Wounds – or tries to, at least, but there’s no rush of magic to her fingertips; nothing happens.

“… great, thanks for the reassuring shoulder touch, that makes me feel better.”

“Shut up,” Lailia mutters, eyebrows furrowed as she tries again, tries to call out to Silvanus and coax magic out of the nature around them to fuel her spell. It’s faint but there, and while it’s the weakest healing spell she’s cast in a long time, at least it stems the bleeding.

“Thanks,” Sven says reluctantly after a moment. “You tried, at least. Looks like you got hit with whatever magic thing’s going around.”

_What?_ Lailia doesn’t understand until she catches sight of the tinge of blue in her fingertips, almost as if she’s been frostbitten. It travels underneath her armor – Sven makes an affronted noise as she tears at the clasps, but she doesn’t care – and all the way across her chest.

The gnarled scar where Sylvia’s drider had run her through and nearly killed her now glows an unnatural silvery-blue.

It’s warm to the touch, but a wound this old has no chance of infection. Right? Lailia’s fingertips skate across the mark as she wonders what this means and just what it might have to do with the goddess’ warning.

“Okay, we get it, it’s weird,” Sven says. “Put your clothes back on.”

Lailia scoffs. “Oh, are you offended? Nudity is only natural, you know.”

“Yeah, and naturally I don’t wanna see it.”

“Fine.” She tugs her armor back over her head, adjusting the breastplate. “What did you mean by that ‘magic thing?’ What’s happened?”

“You gotta ask? Well, I guess you were out for a while.” He leans back against a tree and crosses his arms in a gesture that seems deliberately casual. “Long story short, world’s going crazy. Everything’s burning up –”

“Burning?”

“— yeah, blue fire. That’s about all I know, most of it’s stayed out of the woods and I don’t leave this area often. Magic’s changed, too, but I don’t touch that stuff either so I couldn’t tell you what’s wrong with you. Whatever it is, you’re probably fucked.” He shrugs.

“What do you mean, magic’s changed?”

“I told you, I dunno. Spells are different or something. That’s just word of mouth, though, you’re probably better off testing everything for yourself.”

Fatigue still pulls at Lailia and she can’t imagine expending the energy to try out all of her magic at the moment. But something is definitely wrong, she can sense it, and it makes her only more anxious to be on her way. “This is the Wood of Sharp Teeth, right?”

“Some call it that.”

She pauses. “…what would you call it?”

Sven grins at her. “The Werewoods.”

“Oh.” Lailia’s eyes widen as she connects the dots, but she doesn’t sense any hostility, only amusement from the man. On any other day she’d be much interested in questioning him about his lycanthropy, but it doesn’t seem like the time. “Well. How far is it from here to Wealdath?”

“Huh?”

She sighs. _Humans and their insistence on inelegant names._ “The Forest of Tethir.”

“Oh, that’s pretty far. Two weeks travel or longer if you go straight through the mountains, which I wouldn’t recommend unless you’re following the Trade Way. I hear that’s not safe anymore, though, lots of people trying to take advantage of the chaos. Either way going south’s gonna be tough.”

“I can handle tough,” Lailia says briskly, pushing herself to her feet with a hand against Dair.

“…right. You were just unconscious for who knows how long and you think you can handle tough,” Sven says skeptically.

Lailia glares at him, not in the mood to disclose her identity and past to a near-stranger. “Where’s the nearest natural pool of water?” She asks instead.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Uh, I dunno, there’s a spring over there I guess?” Lailia follows the werewolf’s baffled hand gesture until she reaches the water, kneeling and sipping first to quench her thirst, hearing Sven ambling after her.

She reaches out and just barely brushes the glassy surface of the water, watching the ripples spread into nothingness, and tries to channel the magic around her into the water through that contact, visualizing – what? _What do I want to see?_

She wants to see Andry, and Pervince, and Hogger – but more than that, she wants to see her village and know that her people are safe. The intensity of this desire sparks a fire in her and as if in response, blue flames spread across the surface of the water as if igniting a layer of oil. As her shock wears off, within the circle she can see a distorted image of her forest.

_Safe for now._

Lailia’s sigh of relief seems to extinguish the fire and she slumps as the magic spell ends. _So at least the fire hasn’t reached them yet,_ she thinks. _I have to go._

Her duty from birth is to protect her forest, and Lailia will do everything in her power to do so. She rushes past Sven back to her things and her tree companion, running through possible traveling scenarios in her mind. Dair is slow and unwieldy, and she can travel much farther in her Wild Shape forms, but leaving him behind is not an option. They’ll simply have to go as fast as they can.

“You’re leaving already?” Sven exclaims, “not even a thank you?”

“Thanks,” Lailia mutters, but smiles awkwardly at him nonetheless. “Stay safe, I suppose.”

“You too. Maybe if we’re lucky the gods will intervene.”

_They already have,_ Lailia thinks. _For better or worse. Silvanus help us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last chapter i have written so far, so next update might take a little longer. 
> 
> \- i love bears  
> \- hogger abandoning his hunt for his father may seem a little ooc but i feel like at this point, with everything that's going on, he's cool with searching for his friends first  
> \- writing his scene was hard cause i can't imagine hogger interacting with any npcs in any meaningful, positive way lmao  
> \- sven doesn't belong to me, he belongs to my dm. but he's dead in our campaign so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> \- he's a p cool dude.  
> \- technically the spellplague only affected arcane magic, aka not lailia's shit, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first of multiple reunions.

Hogger can’t believe he’s actually thinking this, but even he is growing tedious of fighting.

Perhaps it is simply the traveling that is getting to him. They’re long days and nights, disrupted by the occasional rabid beast or desperate thief but mostly quiet and lonely were it not for the companionship of Bowser Jr. Anything they’ve come across has been easy to defeat, weakened by the plague. Hogger’s faced more hardship just trying to navigate the changing landscape.

Luckily for him, he soon faces a more difficult challenge.

The sun is high, scorching the earth as water drains from the rivers into the Sea of Fallen Stars. Hogger wonders how the sudden drought will affect the nearby villages, but his interest in matters of that sort is little. All he cares about is making his way south.

It is that one-track mind that means he does not detect the wizard until it is almost too late. The field Hogger crosses is ravaged, littered with the remains of wheat stalks that crunch underfoot. In the near distance a small hut smolders, and Hogger spies a man covered in burns, rummaging through the debris frantically.

He grunts. "Poor guy."

His sympathy does not last for long.

A twig snaps under Hogger's boot and the man's head snaps up viciously, eyes wild.

"Uh, hey - "

" _Melf!_ "

Hogger thinks he's shouting nonsense at first, but the man makes a flailing hand gesture and an emerald arrow zips directly towards the two, landing in the dirt and exploding in a splash of acid. The attack dissipates almost helplessly against his armor, but the acid that splashes on Bowser Jr.'s fur begins to sizzle as it makes contact and the bear yelps, rolling onto its back to ease the burning.

"Hey!" Hogger shouts, whipping his great axe off his back and dashing towards the man, rage sending him into battle mode. "Mage! Coward! I'm your opponent, not the bear!"

No response. The mage stumbles to his feet and goes sprinting towards Hogger, and from behind him appear three near-identical others, clad in the same tattered crimson robes.

Hogger does not slow. He grins. "Well, more fun for me!"

His axe slices the first in two. Blood paints the ground as the body falls aside.

The wizards descend upon him in quick succession. One sends magic missiles shooting towards Hogger's face — ting ting ting — but they are little more than darts which he knocks aside. The second stumbles, halting in its tracks, crazed blue eyes showing the slightest signs of fear as he watches his compatriot fall.

The third points a wand of crystal in Hogger's direction. His shout is gibberish, but Spellscarred magic is not bound to traditional language; sapphire lightning blasts from the rod in a ray straight towards Hogger. And as his previous adventures had proved, Hogger isn't very skilled at dodging.

The axe conducts it, straight through the handle and through Hogger all the way to his dragonbone boots. His muscles seize up as pain shoots through him, sharp and intense before fading just as fast, the hair on his arms standing on end. A line of fire burns in the wheat.

" _Fuck._ " He nearly buckles.

Bowser Jr. races past, a blur of brown fur, tackling the frightened mage. There's a roar and a crunch and then nothing.

Hogger clambers to his feet, raises the axe. This close, he can see the burns covering the mage's face, skin peeling and clinging to a hideous face; Hogger's seen worse, though, so the sight doesn't faze him. He swings through the air harmlessly, muscles still spasming, and stares in almost disbelief.

The mage snarls at him and lunges, but stumbles past him. The other throws some sort of sphere; the fireball strikes Hogger directly in the chest, exploding into coals that singe what skin they touch. He curses and swings the axe, slicing off an arm, and the mage howls and falls away.

"Do you know who you're fighting?" he bellows.

"Hogger!"

"Yes!" Hogger shouts in response, a vicious grin spreading across his face at the recognition of his fame, before he realizes that neither of the mages have _his_ voice. _The hell?_

His eyes widen as in the distance, sunlight glints off of a metal shape that is eerily familiar.

"Hey, mage bastards!" It shouts, waving an axe and stomping towards them. "You'd better run unless you want to be facing the wrath of _two_ Hoggers."

The scoundrel with all his limbs seems to think twice, backing away as Bowser Jr. growls at him, before breaking into a sprint in the opposite direction. The other decides it'd be better to go down fighting, and Hogger downs him easily with another swing of the great axe.

He takes a moment to breathe, squinting at the figure loping towards them. “Hey, I recognize that tin can!” He hollers, a huge grin spreading across his face as he begins to stomp across the battlefield.

“You better, 'cause it's your own ugly mug,” is the response, and although it's strange to have his own slightly metallic voice shouting back at him, Hogger knows whose words they are.

They collide in a clanging of metal and dragonbone, and Hogger's embrace is so strong he can feel the metal dent under his fingers. Mecha Hogger's hug is just as tight, even though it looks to be in particularly rough shape, covered in almost enough scratches to match Hogger's own collection of scars.

“Looks like you've been neglecting robot me,” he laughs. “I'm offended, Andry.”

“Shut up, do you know how hard it is to find a blacksmith that won't screw up the magic keeping you together? I haven't been in this thing in _years_. Move, let me out.”

Hogger steps away just far enough for Andry to disengage from the suit, the metal panels screeching horribly against each other as the back collapses into itself. She's grown – perhaps not in height, but it shows in the weathered lines of her face and the characteristically scruffy but much more sophisticated armor she wears. But her smirk is still the same. “Yo, Hogger. Long time no see.”

“A long time indeed,” Hogger mutters. He's not so overwhelmed as to hug her or anything – Hogger doesn't do _hugs_ – but he does breathe a sigh of relief and shoot her a toothy grin. It's nice to see one of his old friends alive and well. “How have you been?”

Andry snorts. “Hogger trying to do small talk? Wow, you really have changed.”

“Hey, am I not allowed to ask about the last four years?”

“Nah, I'm just joshing ya,” she replies. “Come on, we can catch up later. I recognized those robes – a bunch’a Cormyr’s War Wizards went crazy. We gotta get out of here before that one brings friends back.”

And with that she immediately climbs back in the suit and sets off as if nothing has changed. Hogger stares after her, axe slack in his grip, before shaking his head and following.

 _What does joshing mean?_ he wonders.

* * *

It's almost nightfall before they find a suitable place to stop and rest, and even then Hogger is tasked with clearing the area of threats before either of them feel safe enough to bed down. Hogger doesn't particularly want to stop – meeting one friend has only made him more eager to find the others – but Andry calls the shots, and she does look exhausted. (Traveling with companions has its pros and cons.)

Andry sets up camp while Hogger patrols the surrounding woods, the suit stationed nearby. The way she starts the fire catches his eye as he returns.

“You never got a new hand?” Hogger asks, surprised. His bear claw has been invaluable.

Andry shrugs, her hair blue-black in the firelight. “Nah, I just kinda got used to it. Besides, everybody underestimates a halfling with one hand, and it's a badass story to tell at parties.” She doesn't seem particularly bothered by the loss, which strikes Hogger as new, but he's grown so accustomed to the use of his bear claw that it must be the same way for her.

“Huh.”

Bowser Jr. reemerges from the undergrowth, a large salmon in his jaws, which he gingerly sets by the fire before lumbering over to casually bowl over Andry. The bear's affectionate grumbles nearly drown out her breathy snickers as she tries not to be smothered by fur. “Hey, get off me,” she mumbles, “you're too big for this now. And bleh, I'm used to getting my own hair in my mouth but I don't want yours.” Eventually she manages to shove the bear off her and gestures to the fish. “You gonna cook that?”

Hogger grunts and spears it on the end of his (clean) axe. “Of course. I’m not a barbarian.”

It’s a minute or so before Hogger realizes Andry is staring at him in amused disbelief.

“You challenged a lizardman to a duel and then ripped out his tongue,” she says. “You tried to eviscerate a guy with a bear claw. You cut off your own _hand_ because we were taking too long.”

“And you kicked a blind man so hard you shattered his sphincter.”

“…He deserved it.”

“Never said he didn’t,” Hogger replies sagely. “I may relish a good fight, but at least I have _honor._ ”

Andry shrugs. “I can’t deny that. Your weird honor complex got us into a whole lot of trouble.”

And Hogger can’t deny that, either. He can count on both hands (well, hand and claw) how many times he’d inadvertently stirred up more conflict by taking offense to a perceived slight, but he doesn’t regret any of it. Hogger doesn’t have time for regrets. “Touchy.”

“… you mean touché?”

“Whatever.”

They spend dinner reminiscing in their own strange way, reminding each other of stupid mistakes or ridiculous scenarios they’d found themselves in over the course of those legendary few weeks. (They spend at least five minutes laughing after Andry says with a straight face, “Yeah, too bad Taelor de Swift died. He was an invaluable asset to the team.”)

After a time, though, the jolly atmosphere fades and they’re faced with more somber topics to discuss.

“Have you heard from Pervy? Or Lailia?” Andry asks, propping her head up with an elbow on Bowser Jr.

Hogger shakes his head.

“Figures. They’re probably fine. We should just keep heading towards the Jire, I’m sure that’s where they’re headed too if they’re not there already. Lailia’s probably worried sick about her forest.” The firelight flickers in the reflection of Andry’s troubled eyes.

“Of course they’re fine,” Hogger says, and he believes it, but his voice is not as strong as he would like. “They can fight off anything.”

“I’m not worried about them fighting things,” Andry mutters.

“What do you mean?”

“I guess you wouldn’t know since you weren’t in the cities,” she says after a moment. “It’s not just all the weird natural stuff. Magic’s gone wild.”

“What?”

“Yeah. People were losing control of their spells, apparently certain ones won’t work or do different things now. A big section of the guild’s mages got so messed up by the change that they just… went insane. Couldn’t handle their entire world getting pulled out from underneath them.” Andry shrugs. “And like, you and I will be fine, we’re never going to have to deal with that, but…” Lailia and Pervince might, she leaves unsaid.

Hogger sits back silently, his confidence shaken. Lailia’s magic is integral to both how Hogger knows her and how she understands herself – when he thinks of Lailia he thinks of panthers and bears, of a well-placed Moonbeam or an exasperated healing spell. Sure, she’s a talented physical fighter, but that is not where her strengths lie.

And Pervince – Pervince _is_ magic. He is music and he is magic, the only sort of magic that Hogger has ever come to love, whether it be a jaunty little cheer that invigorates during battle or a soft verse that soothes Hogger’s aches. To imagine Pervince without that light is painful in a way Hogger cannot quite comprehend.

To imagine him lost, no longer himself, twisted by whatever dark curse has befallen the land –

No. He’s fine. Hogger is too stubborn to accept otherwise.

Silence falls between them for a while, but neither of them are suited to it. Andry flicks a sliver of fishbone at Hogger with a mischievous smirk. “You still got a thing for Lailia?”

Hogger flushes a ruddy gray, his first instinct for dealing with embarrassment to lash out, to snap at Andry, but he tries not to get angry. It was before they'd gone their separate ways, in the uncomfortably domestic time Hogger had spent in the Jire, in which he'd rather carelessly admitted his attraction to Lailia to a baffled, pitying Andry.

“ _I don't understand how to make her like me.”_

“ _Have you considered that it's not just you? She definitely rejected Pervy, and he all but confessed. And she's brushed off every single guy that's tried to get with her. Remember when that snooty elf dude tried to touch her and she turned him into a slug? Pretty badass.”_

“ _I don't understand.”_

“ _Well, what do you have in common with all of them?”_

“ _...we're warriors? I see. I never took Lailia as the dominating type, but maybe she wants someone she can provide for.”_

“ _Uhm... no comment. Look, keep thinking about it, Hogger. You'll get it eventually, unless you really are as dumb as you look.”_

“ _Hey!”_

And he did get it, eventually, by the way Lailia smiled at girls (Andry) and talked about girls (Andry) and reacted to girls (Andry). Disheartening as it was, it was also somehow comforting to know that Lailia wasn’t rejecting Hogger as a person, at least.

Andry had left by then. Hogger considers turning the question back on her, but Pervince has taught him that sometimes it truly is better to refrain from action. (Andry will figure it out, if she’s not as dumb as she looks.)

The rogue takes his silence for agreement, and sighs. “Hogger –”

“No.”

“Huh?”

“No,” Hogger repeats, “I got over her a long time ago. She’s still a good friend, of course, but time apart has made me realize that I cannot give her what she needs. And besides,” one edge of his lip curls up in an imitation of Andry’s smirk, “looking back I’m less inclined to remember how pretty she is and more about how many times she yelled at me.”

Andry takes a moment to contemplate that, laughing and shaking her head. She looks almost relieved. "Good to know, buddy. She certainly yelled at you a lot."

"She yelled at you just as often."

"Nah, remember when she fuckin' chewed you out down in Goo Swanson's place?"

"Right after she turned you into a mouse?"

Andry blinks owlishly. "Oh. I forgot about that."

"I don't know how; I think turning into a mouse would be pretty memorable."

"Well, a lot of memorable stuff happened, I can't recall _everything_ ," Andry says, sticking her tongue out at him. "Whatever. Look, I gotta get some sleep. The suit might run on sunlight or fairy dust or whatever but I sure as hell don't." She shifts to lay down, black hood falling to hide her face as she tucks the bedroll around her. Bowser Jr. she uses as a pillow, the bear snuffling and curling up tighter around her.

Hogger grumbles under his breath, but settles in anyway. Andry hadn’t asked him to keep watch, but one of them should, and she’ll need her rest in the coming days. The orc wonders if he’s gone soft, shrugs to himself and thinks that if so, it’s that damn goddess’ fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i (once again!) didn't have internet while i was visiting my parents which meant 1) i found motivation to write but 2) couldn't actually post anything. so here you go! idk when the next chapter will be up but i have a good start on it now. 
> 
> various notes:  
> \- Hogger’s perception has probably not improved a single bit.  
> \- The spells that the various wizards cast include Melf's Acid Arrow, Lightning Bolt, and Chromatic Orb. Melf seems like a cool guy.  
> \- Don’t worry, Andry won’t be in the robot forever.  
> \- If you see a pattern in how these two interact, it’s because they’re constantly trying to show each other up, even if it’s just through reminiscing about their mistakes. They both see Lailia as out of their league and Pervince is a friend, so they poke fun at each other. It’s kind of a way for both of them to make sure they’re still on the same level.  
> \- Hogger talking to Andry about his “thing” for Lailia might seem a little weird but I think they would get to that level eventually. Hogger’s really bad at keeping secrets and Andry would have undoubtedly caught on to something. The line about Pervince will make sense in time. Also, Hogger’s not wrong; Lailia is absolutely the dominating type.  
> \- I like to think after a while Hogger would finally wise up to Lailia’s sexuality. It’s pretty damn obvious when they interact with people, they just didn’t get to do a lot of that while they were adventuring. It’s a part of that whole “maturing” thing they’ve got going on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everything is on fire, pretty much.

Pervince arrives as fire is sweeping in from the North, that part of the land already burning, creeping towards Wealdath.

He races the sunset, too distracted to even sing as they travel. The hoofbeats of the pony he'd borrowed from an innkeeper echo on the silent road and Pervince urges it on. He can only hope that he's not too late.

The pony slows atop the outermost hill of the Jire, tossing its head petuously and neighing, asking Pervince if they've finally reached his destination _so I can go have my hooves done, for fuck's sake, they're terribly dirty!_

 _I don't think anyone will be free to clean your hooves,_ Pervince responds, _but yes, we have arrived. Thank you for your service._ He hops off, collecting his bags, and with a shake of its mane the pony starts on down the hill without him. Pervince lingers, extending his legs the full length to better see the shimmer of fire on the horizon and the smoke curling into the air, before beginning down a very familiar path into his village.

Little has changed. Little _ever_ changes in the Jire; once halflings find something that works, they're loath to change, and they're quite attached to their domestic way of life. Pervince has seen dozens of halfling settlements that look exactly like his homeland, scattered across Faerun. Most of them are probably gone now, but the Jire still stands.

As he hurries past some call out in relief, waving and crowding around him; others point and stare, whispering among themselves. _Is that Pervince Tosscobble? The plague's finally made him come home, has it? Is he going to save us?_

A woman stops him in his tracks, hazel eyes glazed over with the blindness of old age. Somehow she still finds his hands and peers up at him, and Pervince swallows down his trepidation to give her a smile. "Dear boy," she says, "have you seen it? The fire?"

"Yes," Pervince responds and now he raises his voice, looking around the crowd pleadingly. "I-I have! It comes from the north, through the elves' territory. We must evacuate. Pack your things, everyone, only the essentials, please." With that he slips away, leaving the halflings to chatter amongst themselves, some in disbelief ("There's no way I'm leaving my house!") and others in fear. He's not sure he has the authority to persuade his people to move, but it's the only plan he has.

For now he sprints on nimble feet down the path to his childhood home. The door is open, always is.

Merla Tosscobble pushes back from the table in surprise, abandoning her needlepoint tapestry, a hobby she only keeps up when she's stressed. A few more streaks of gray have been drawn in her brown hair, tied back in the messiest of buns, but otherwise Pervince thinks she's barely aged.

"Pervince!" She cries, though it's more wordless than anything as she flings herself around the table and into his arms. Pervince stumbles, catching her and spinning with the momentum. He almost laughs.

"Hello, mother," he says, patting her on the back. "It's nice to see you. We don't have time to talk, though."

"What – boy, don't just brush me off like that!" She smacks him lightly upside the head. "What do you mean, we don't have time to talk? You've been gone too long to just leave it at that. There's always time to talk in this household." But her eyes tell otherwise. "Sit down and tell me where you've been these past two, two and a half years." His mother tries to impress him into taking a seat at the kitchen table but Pervince resists, ducking away from her and wincing at the scolding look he receives.

"I-I'm sorry, mum, but honestly, we don't have time for that. You must know about the storm that's heading towards the Jire. We must call a council meeting and have everyone evacuate," urges Pervince.

Merla raises an eyebrow. "You know there will be people who refuse to leave their homes. We've lived here for hundreds of years, Pervince, some of our neighbors would rather die here than be driven out by some magical fire."

"And what about you, mother? Is that why you're sitting here embroidering?"

She doesn't respond to that one.

Pervince regrets the question almost immediately, but he doesn't have time to take it back. There's a bit of commotion and a gruff voice from the hall, and his father appears, peering at him through thick gold-rimmed spectacles before lighting up with recognition. "Pervy! Look who's finally decided to show up!" he crows, stomping forward to wrap him in a tight hug.

"Er, hi, dad," Pervince mumbles as well as he can, trapped in his father's embrace. For a moment he thinks of how happy he would've been to get such a hug years ago, when he'd just started out on his adventures. "You must know why I decided now to 'show up.'"

"The blue fire, of course," his father says knowingly, but it's not the sort of response Pervince was hoping for. "Look, don't bother yourself with worrying about it, Pervince. If it'll come, then it'll come, and there's nothing we can do to stop it."

"What?!"

"It's like I told you," Merla chimes in, brown eyes somber. "We've accepted our fate. Many of us are too old to be uprooted, Pervince, and we're willing to take whatever the gods send our way. I hear there's talk of holing up in the Conservatory when things get too bad."

Pervince can barely believe what his halfling ears are hearing, and he looks between his parents with something dawning on horror. It is the look of a child that has realized in some ways, he has surpassed his parents. _This has to be a jest. There's no way they would just lie down and let the fire roll over the entire Jire, taking them with it! They'll die! Well, I suppose that's probably the point but Pervince, no, don't start with that. You have to convince them to evacuate._

"Where's Moxie?" asks Pervince instead, looking around. "Or Wayward? He's always been better with words. Perhaps he can explain to you why we need to call a meeting."

His mother's expression falls and his father steps away from him. "Wayward left when the plague broke out," Winthrop says. "Said he was going to see if he could stake out somewhere safe for us to move to, but he hasn't turned back up since. That's just one of the reasons it's best to accept it, Pervince, since if your brother hasn't returned by now then there's obviously nowhere to move to. Oh, and Moxie’s around somewhere.”

Pervince takes pause at that. Wayward, gone? He never has been very reliable, even if he claimed to be looking out for their parents. Pervince wouldn't put it past him to simply up and leave the Jire.

The dilemma is that he'd like to think better of his brother, but then, the only reasons Pervince can think of for Wayward to have not returned are bad ones.

"I'm sure he's fine," Pervince says to himself more than anyone. "Just because he's not home yet doesn't mean we should stay here!" He's struck by the urgency of the situation now moreso than ever, blue eyes flashing as he attempts to talk his parents into _listening_ to him for once. "At the very least, call a council so we can inform everyone of what's happening. Then we'll be able to discuss evacuating."

Winthrop squints at him, but Pervince stands tall. Eventually his father sighs and nods in concession. "Fine, son, I'll have an emergency one called for this afternoon. You'd better put all your bard skills to good use if you're going to convince anyone, though."

* * *

 

Pervince has improved immensely as both a bard and a negotiator since he first left the Jire, but somehow his skills are still not impressive enough for his people. He stands on the edge of the Conservatory's hallowed Silverhand Stage, voice magically amplified, pleading with halflings that have known him since he was a mere boy to _be fucking reasonable_ and evacuate the area.

Unsurprisingly enough, he still cannot get people to listen to him.

"L-look, I've seen the fire coming this way."

"From where?"

"It's visible from the hills," Pervince says with some exasperation, staring down a crotchety old man with hair sprouting from his ears. "I promise I'm not the only one who's seen it. It's going to reach us eventually, there's no point in staying in our homes unless you simply wish to be swallowed up by it."

"Can't you put it out, Mr. Tosscobble?"

"Er... not really."

Pervince doesn't think it _can_ be stopped, if he's honest. If it could be, well, he'd be using every bit of magic he has to either do it himself or ask Sylvia's sister why she hasn't done anything about it.

No, whatever's happened to the Weave –  the fabric with which all magic is woven – is likely unfixable. Pervince is more concerned with convincing the citizens of the Jire to flee than protecting the forest.

Lailia would protect the forest.

Pervince prays that she's on her way home. Lailia would be persuasive enough to make his people want to leave. (No, she wouldn't be.) She would have an idea how to stop the fires. (Not really.) She would know where to find Hogger and Andry. (No clue.) Right?

"Well, where are we going to go if we do listen to you and evacuate?" calls a woman.

Pervince sighs. "Let me explain again. I have a spell that will create a teleportation circle, perhaps on this very stage, and with a special pattern of sigils I can connect it to the emergency teleportation circle in Darromar. We go through the circle, take sanctuary in the city, and then hopefully return when the fire’s died.”

It's self-explanatory, or at least Pervince thinks so. He's been to Darromar on a few different occasions – it's the capitol of Tethyr, after all – and memorized that particular sigil sequence in the hopes he could teleport and visit the Jire. It's unfortunate that now is the time to use it.

He's... not quite sure if the Darromar guards will be particularly welcoming to a flood of refugee halflings. But it's a public circle for a reason, and with any luck Pervince will be at the head of the crowd to explain things. If he can convince anyone to go through the damned circle in the first place. 

He's struggling to keep the attentions of the crowd, that he knows. "And what if the fire reaches the city?"

"It won't get that far," Pervince says, injecting some confidence into his words. "And the river will stop it... if there is anything of the river left."

That last bit he doesn't mean to say aloud, but it slips out and sends the halflings into a commotion. Pervince curses under his breath as his persuasion is all for naught; one doubtful statement has eroded any semblance of trust in him. _Silly Pervince, thinking you'd learned to keep your mouth shut. Now what?_

He'll have to resort to magic, but he can't enchant the entire village.

Pervince mentally through his repertoire of spells, trying to think of one that might do him some good. _Aha!_

Surreptitiously, he reaches for his components pouch, searching with two or three fingers. He ends up finding the snake's tongue (dried, but that shouldn't affect the spell, right?) and a bit of honeycomb, dry but still sticky, and clutches them in one loose fist. Pervince scans the crowd quickly, picking out twelve of the Jire's most influential members, including his own father. _Well, I really hope this works, because it's the only chance I have._

He hasn't felt any changes since the start of the Spellplague, but that doesn't mean everything is all fine and dandy. But there's no way to know unless he tries.

" _Please,_ " Pervince says, his words dripping with syrupy magic that makes his chosen targets snap to attention.

" _Take your families and friends and prepare to evacuate. Leave through the teleportation circle I will summon and wait to return until the fires have gone out._ "

He feels a little guilty, watching their eyes glaze over as the suggestion takes hold. It will only last twenty-four hours, but hopefully it is long enough for people to escape and for the fire to do what it will. Pervince would rather the entire Jire burn than lose any of his people; houses can be rebuilt and belongings repaired. More than that is difficult.

Pervince turns away, leaving the stage he had once so longed to perform on. He can hear people beginning to whisper, _perhaps it would be a good idea to leave for now, come on let’s go pack,_ and he knows that is all he can do.

Save for casting the actual circle, of course.

The Conservatory is the most sensible place for people to gather, but Pervince left his pack at home in the commotion of calling a meeting, so he has to return to grab what he needs to cast the teleportation circle.

When he slips out the front door of his beloved college, he can see the shimmer of heat on the north horizon, smoke billowing into the sky. _Oh no. Gods, no._

He snatches up his pack from his family home. It’s on the way back to the Conservatory that Pervince pauses, his eye caught by a bird, circling overhead. In and of itself this is nothing unusual, but something in Pervince tells him to wait, and a moment later the bird spirals down to land on his outstretched arm. It’s a kestrel, small but still bulky enough to unbalance him, and with beautiful red-brown plumage.

“Well, aren’t you pretty,” Pervince murmurs, tentatively stroking the kestrel’s head.

He yelps as it nips at his finger, displeased. Then Pervince’s blue eyes widen as the bird speaks – not in a crow or a chirp, but a familiar female voice.

“ _Pervince! The storm is coming south. If you’ve reached the Jire, please help my people protect my forest. I’m on my way. Stay safe, friend.”_

There is no signature, no name, but Pervince doesn’t need one to identify the sender as the bird takes off into the air and flies back northwards. The frantic twenty-five word message echoes in his mind, short and bittersweet, and somehow Lailia sounds exactly the same as she did four years ago.

 _No, I don’t have time to reminisce_ , Pervince thinks to himself sharply. So Lailia is close, but how close? He has no clue how far or how long the animal messenger had been flying, so he can’t even estimate when she’d cast the spell. He just has to hope that close is close enough.

Pervince fishes out a small piece of copper wire, bending and twisting it into a small loop. He holds it to his mouth and speaks through it, counting words on the other hand.

_“Got your message. Where are you now? Jire is evacuating, I can help your village evacuate too. But I cannot stop the fire. Please hurry.”_

Pervince cuts the Sending spell off there, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before Lailia responds in kind. Maybe if she’s close enough she’ll reach them before the fire. Maybe she’ll have a plan as to how to stop the inferno sweeping their way. Maybe.

It’s on his way back to the Conservatory that he receives her reply, echoing in his mind this time, as vivid and loud as if she were standing next to him. “ _Almost there. Yes, go, tell them you’re my friend. They’ll remember you. Try anything – ow! Sorry, fire –_

Pervince almost smiles. It seems Lailia is a little distracted.

_“ – we must put it out. Meet me there.”_

Lailia’s voice fades there. Pervince hurries back to the Conservatory with a bit of a skip in his step; the situation is still bad, but perhaps together they’ll be able to make a difference. There’s a quiet whirring sound as he extends his legs – Pervince has grown used to adjusting his balance and barely sways as he suddenly gains three or four feet in height. The extra height gives him room to step through the crowd and back up to the stage.

Pervince shrinks back down, pulls out his gem-infused chalks, and begins to draw. It takes him a long while to draw the circle as perfect as he possibly can, and then he begins to carefully trace the sigils for the Darromar teleportation circle.

The sequence is almost too complicated, and more than once Pervince has to retrace his steps, smudge a line or two. He’s never been much of an intellectual, preferring to channel his magic through song and dance rather than intricate spells found in ancient tomes or through intense study. That’s one reason he didn’t succeed at the Conservatory in the first place.

But that’s in the past now. He'd always preferred the less strenuous side of barddom, anyway. 

The portal glows a hellish blue as it begins to open. Irony, that. It won't last long, no more than an hour or two, but that should be long enough to evacuate most anyone who has been convinced to flee. Or at least Pervince hopes so. 

"Pervy!" 

The nickname distracts him, and Pervince whips around frantically, desperately – _Andry?_ But instead (and he feels a little bad for feeling so disappointed) it's his brother Moxie, colliding with Pervince in a tight hug. He's a little disheveled, a little burned, but as sturdy as ever. There's dustings of a beard on his cheeks and Pervince is struck at the sight; Moxie is perhaps the first Tosscobble of their generation to manage facial hair, but then again, Moxie was always more of a man than the rest of them.

"There you are!" Moxie exclaims. "Mum said you were back, should've known you'd be here. I was out trying to keep that damn fire back, but no luck."

"Good to see you too, Moxie," Pervince mumbles, trapped in his brother's embrace. "That magic has done wonders for your voice."

"It has, hasn't it?" Moxie says proudly. "Probably not the time to marvel over it, though. What're you doing here? What's all this magic shit?"

“It’s a teleportation circle,” says Pervince, a thought coming to him. “Moxie, could you please stay here and direct people through it? Someone has to control the flow or the portal might get overwhelmed, and everyone is panicked enough as it is. Make sure someone who can explain what’s happening goes through first.”

“Er, sure, brother,” Moxie says, “but where are you going? I don’t know a thing about this thing, you’re probably better off managing it.”

“I have other things to attend to,” Pervince says, thinking of the burning forest and Lailia’s message.

Moxie looks like he wants to protest. He looks like he knows _exactly_ what Pervince is planning on doing and can’t decide between insisting on going with him or shoving Pervince into the portal himself. Instead the man just sighs heavily, lips twitching into a rueful smile. “Sometimes I miss the days when I could order you around.”

Pervince bristles, but Moxie's honest smile convinces him that he means it only in jest. Pervince allows himself to return the smile.

"Those days are long gone, brother," he says, patting Moxie on the shoulder as he leaves. 

"I sure hope so. Stay safe, Pervy!" Moxie calls after him.

* * *

 

Smoke stings his eyes and clouds his lungs before Pervince has even reached the fire. The forest ahead is glowing blue, and Pervince tries to focus on the trodden dirt that marks his path. Tripping into the village would not make a particularly good impression on the elves he wants to help. 

He recognizes the area straight away -- it may have been years, but one does not forget the grandeur of an elven civilization. The trees themselves are adapted to the needs of the elves, hollowing themselves out or entwining to create bridges and dwellings. It's a shame that all will be in flames soon. 

"Halt!"

Pervince stumbles to a stop, shrinking an inch in his surprise. He spots the tips of arrows pointing at him from the bushes a moment before an archer steps out to challenge him, shaken from the oncoming disaster yet still determined to do his job. 

"Er, um, hello," says Pervince. Having a bow in your face makes it rather hard to think of what to say. 

"State your business, halfling. There is nothing north of here but fire."

"I know. My name is Pervince, Pervince Tosscobble to be exact, and I come from the Jire, and I come to help on behalf of Lailia Meliamne."

The archer's eyes go wide and the other sentries pop out of the bushes in their surprise, lowering their bows as though Pervince had never been an intruder. "Lailia? Have you seen her?"

 _Of course,_  Pervince thinks, _Lailia is something of a celebrity around here._  "Well, no, but she informed me that she is on her way."

"Oh! Come, then, you should speak to our elders," says the young man, hesitating before bowing nervously. "Pardon my rudeness, please," he winces, but Pervince brushes it off with his characteristic smile.

Lailia's elders are pleased to have news of her, but are no more willing to evacuate as per Pervince's suggestion.

"But there is no extinguishing a fire of this kind, you should know that. It is driven by magic."

"There is no point in martyring your people for a forest they cannot protect."

"Lailia does not _want_ this!"

But it is of no use; Pervince's logic is swept aside almost as casually as his parents had been willing to accept their fate. His news of Lailia is valuable, but the elves are determined to protect their village until nothing remains. (Pervince used to admire Lailia's devotion to her home; now he sees it is an inherited trait and finds it more aggravating than anything.) Outside, there is a sharp whistle and a scream. 

When Pervince emerges from the village hall, crowded out of the door by the same elders he had been arguing with, his world is engulfed in blue. The fire burns furiously, swallowing up the village as though it had noticed the elves' complacency and decided to punish them for it. There is a steady trickle of people leaving to the north side; some are casting magic, trying to ward off the flames but it only seems to fuel them. (Pervince could have told them not to do that, but what good would it do?)

He screws up his eyes, coughs a bit, and begins stumbling away from the inferno. There's no point in sticking around if the elves will not be convinced, and Pervince has his own people to worry about, if he is honest. "I'm sorry, Lailia," he mumbles remorsefully. 

"Pervince!" He turns at a familiar holler. Out of the flames looms a huge shadow -- _a walking tree?_ \-- and perched on one arm-like branch is an extremely disheveled, panicked Lailia. Pervince sighs. _Oh my. The smoke must be getting to me. I'm hallucinating._ Then Lailia's voice shrills, "Don't you turn your back on me, Pervince Tosscobble!" 

 _But that sounds so realistic..._ Pervince turns back, out of sheer curiosity, and gasps. "Lailia! Is that... really you? Are my eyes not deceived by the flames?" 

Here she is in front of him, beautiful as ever, though singed beyond belief. The ends of her hair glow and curl with smoke but she takes no notice, nor does she show any response to the copious number of cuts and scrapes that Pervince can see. She jumps down from her perch, knees giving out on impact as she stumbles forward to meet him. 

Pervince extends his legs just in time to meet Lailia in a bone-crushing embrace. He allows himself just a moment to savor it, to bury his face in her shoulder and breathe in the sweet scent of rainfall and lilac, before forcing himself to pull away. If they had the time to spare, he might cry; as it is, his eyes tear up from the smoke. 

He's baffled at her sudden appearance, though. "Where were you? How did you get here? And so fast?" 

He's expecting a thorough explanation, perhaps with a few unfamiliar Druidic terms mixed in, but Lailia shakes her head. "We can talk about it later. What's happened? Did you talk to the elders?"

"I- well, I made a valiant attempt to persuade them to flee, but..." Pervince gives her a short rundown of his argument with her people, Lailia's brow furrowing as he goes on. When he stammers to a halt, she walks away and catches one of the elders by the sleeve, conversing in harsh tones that make her lilting Elvish sound more like Dwarvish. 

Pervince speaks Elvish, and if he cared he could listen in, but he's struck more by the chaos around them. Trees begin to fall with a resounding crash, one after another, and a blistering heat wave almost sweeps him off his feet. Slowly, the elves he saw in the midst of the flames begin to retreat, understanding the limits of their ability in the face of such power. 

Lailia has no such cognizance. While her people flee around her, she marches straight into the flames with her characteristic determination, and Pervince is suddenly terrified. He'd held onto a sliver of hope that Lailia would have a plan, that it would all work out, but now he's faced with following her through the gates of hell, or possibly losing her to a hopeless endeavor right after they've been reunited. 

This is Lailia, though. He'd follow her anywhere. ( _We all would,_ he thinks wryly. As long as they live to see their friends again.)

Pervince coughs and scrambles after her. His lungs burn and he conjures a gust of wind, just to sweep the smoke out of the way, but it lingers, suspended in the air like clay in water. Lailia is trying everything she can think of, but even the torrent of rain that falls on them evaporates as it touches the unnatural flames, a loud sizzling erupting around them like a horde of dragons. 

The flames rise up in fierce response, sweeping forward in a wave of force that knocks both of them to the ground. Pervince yelps in pain, working frantically to beat out the fire on his sleeve, feeling an odd pain that his brain can't pin down before realizing that his metal legs are getting dangerously hot. It's hard to breathe.

Lailia's hair is pure fire, sapphire and ruby twining together in a riveting dance. Pervince's heart leaps into his throat, but he's simultaneously mesmerized by the power he feels radiating off of her, just as intense as the enchanted fire. 

" _Stop!"_  She screams, voice raw with emotion. "This is my forest and you can't have it!" 

Pervince wonders absently which god has chosen to converse with her. He wants to get up, take Lailia by the hand and drag her away before they both die a painful, fiery death, but it feels like the joints on his legs have melted together. (It's quite likely.)

The fire roars as if in response, brighter and louder until Pervince has to hide his face from the all-consuming blaze, feeling the heat lick at his skin and knowing that he is going to die here. He gasps in a last breath, thinks of Hogger, and the wind howls so loudly in his ears that he cannot hear Lailia's piercing scream. 

Everything stops. 

Pervince waits a moment, pounding heartbeat flooding the silence, sneaking a peek out of the safety of his arms and expecting to see the silhouette of He Who Must Be, looking down upon him, but instead he is greeted with a half-burnt forest and an unconscious Lailia. As Pervince watches, a few lingering sparks fall from the heavens and disappear against her skin with an eerie blue glow. 

The forest is still. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's been a while. i have a strong tendency to leave multichapters for months at a time and then come back to them when the inspiration strikes. good thing i don't have an audience waiting for the next installation, right? 
> 
> notes:  
> \- i think the dynamic of the jire would be really interesting to explore someday, especially now that pervince is an accomplished hero in his own right. in this version, they basically worship him as a folk hero now that he's come into his own, but other interpretations would be interesting.  
> \- i also imagine halfling settlements as super conservative communities that are very adverse to change and would rather die than leave their houses, but ymmv.  
> \- in this chapter Pervince uses Mass Suggestion, Teleportation Circle, and Message. Lailia uses Animal Messenger as well as Create or Destroy Water.  
> \- moxie is a super buff trans dude and i love him  
> \- yes Pervince thinks of Hogger when he's pretty sure he's about to die.


End file.
